


Spice

by De_Nugis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-23
Updated: 2010-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-17 01:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/De_Nugis/pseuds/De_Nugis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plotless future curtain!fic, featuring happy OCD!Sam and cooking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spice

Sam unscrews the top of the allspice and inhales the scent, strong and pungent. Yes. This should do. The spice catalog recommends replacing spices once a year, and he’d done it in March. Maybe the good folk at Penzey’s just wanted a guaranteed annual hundred dollar order out of him, but he liked unpacking the new shipment, emptying the old, dulled spices and cleaning the little jars, lids laid out in a row along the edge of the dishdrainer. The next day they went back in their rack, refilled to the brim, orderly and evocative and distinct.

He measures the quarter teaspoon of allspice, shaking the spoon gently until the surface of the powder is exactly even, and then adds it to the ground beef in the glass bowl. Cumin is next, then pepper (black), pepper (crushed red), and salt. Then come the herbs, lined up in their little glass dishes along the edge of the concave chopping board. Cilantro, mint, oregano. He hesitates for a moment. Minced garlic and minced roasted bell pepper go in next, smaller chopping board, then larger – surely Dean won’t count it as a vegetable if it comes from a jar. Then a teaspoon of molasses and two teaspoons of sherry vinegar.

Dean wanders past towards the fridge, in search of beer. He leans around Sam to look into the bowl, eyeing the betraying hints of green and red. “Dude, are you putting vegetables in my meat?” he complains, but it is mostly _pro forma_. Dean trusts the purifying fire of the grill to overcome any foreign, girly, or degenerate elements in his brother’s cooking.

A few more minutes, and Sam carries out the plate with the five patties (four placed at compass points, one in the center) to where Dean is nursing the grill. He hands the plate to Dean and settles back on the steps with his own beer. This part is Dean’s job, domestic pyromania. Sam’s happy to admit that his long-standing fantasy of Grilling Dean is even better when Sam is the one Dean grills for.

****************

  
It’s late, now, past midnight, the neighborhood quiet except for the random barking of a dog a few doors down. The dishes are drying in the dishdrainer, chopping boards, large plates, small plates. Beer bottles rinsed and binned. Upstairs, Sam holds Dean’s face between his hands. Forefingers go at the corner of Dean’s eyes, thumbs where his jaw meets his neck, mouth on Dean’s. Ten deep kisses, beer and spices lingering behind Crest fresh-stripe, and Sam makes his way down. Left collarbone, right, the hollow between. Left nipple, right nipple. He tongues at Dean’s belly button, then lower, line of dark hair to guide him. Takes the tip of Dean’s cock in his mouth, a perfect two inches. Swirls his tongue clockwise, then counterclockwise. Dean sighs, cock sliding deeper in Sam’s mouth, fingers twisting in Sam’s hair. Sam puts his hands on Dean’s hips, carefully aligned, fingers spaced around hipbones, thumbs almost touching Dean’s balls. Dean arches up, cranes his head off the pillow, and then his hands are under Sam’s armpits, hauling him up, then behind his head, pulling him in for a messy, unplanned kiss. Dean rolls them over, and he’s smiling down, fond and feral. “Enough with the freaky OCD blowjobs, Sammy, gonna fuck you,” he says, his voice rough. One of Dean's hands pulls out from under Sam’s head and gropes vaguely across the surface of the bedside table, jostling the lamp and knocking Sam’s paperback to the floor. Sam’s eyes are closed, but he doesn’t need them open. He stretches a hand out to where he knows the knob of the bedside table drawer is, pulls, and reaches in for the lube, exactly centered, where it belongs.


End file.
